The Princess Brides. Jane Porter
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They’d grown up together. He trusted her. ‘‘But why would you try something like that in the first place? What if help hadn’t come in time?’’ He shook his head, exhausted, worn out from the night spent at the side of her bed. ‘‘Is your life really so unbearable?’’
She covered her face with her hands, unable to bear his censure. ‘‘Forgive me.’’
‘‘Help me understand.’’
She cried harder. Malik felt sick at heart. ‘‘I’ve sent for your mother,’’ he said after a long moment. ‘‘She and your sister are coming from New York.’’
‘‘No, Malik!’’ She scrubbed her face dry, struggled to sit up, grimacing at a wave of nausea. They’d pumped her stomach at the hospital and she was obviously still sore. ‘‘Mother will be furious. She’ll be so upset.’’
‘‘And I’m not?’’ he demanded, not knowing whether to shake her or put his arms around her. ‘‘Fatima, you could have died.’’
She shuddered. ‘‘It was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake the moment I did it. That’s why I called for help.’’
‘‘But why?’’ He couldn’t let it drop. He couldn’t let it go. You didn’t swallow a bottle of pills without good reason. What had pushed her over the edge? ‘‘Fatima, you must be honest with me. I insist.’’
She looked at him, then past him, her dark gaze going vacant. ‘‘You were supposed to marry me.’’
He froze, air bottled in his lungs. What?
Staring down into Fatima’s averted face, he could see her agony. Her face was still pale, her mouth pinched, her eyes glassy, and he felt her tremor of fear and anger, hurt and confusion. Her agony was real. ‘‘Explain this to me,’’ he said more gently, trying for a calm he didn’t feel.
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. ‘‘Father said you were to be my husband. He said I was to wait for you.’’
His heart fell.
For a long moment he felt horribly destructive—look what he’d done to Fatima? And then reason set in. He hadn’t done anything to her but treat her as a member of his own family.
And now he wracked his brain, trying to think of a time when marriage with Fatima might have been discussed, but he could remember no such conversation. It was common practice in Baraka for cousins to marry, for family to intermarry. Cousins were considered favorable marriage partners as it consolidated a family’s power.
Fatima filled the silence with her slow, painful words. ‘‘It’d been widely assumed that we would marry—’’
‘‘By whom?’’
‘‘My family. Your family.’’
‘‘I’ve never heard this before.’’
She shrugged wearily. ‘‘My father said your father had agreed. It would keep the wealth in the family, simplify inheritance.’’ Her body slumped, no energy left. ‘‘Ever since I was small, I’d been raised to think that you…and I…’’ Her voice drifted away, she bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears.
You and I rang in his head. You and I…‘‘So you took an overdose of sleeping pills?’’
She shrugged yet again, her slender spine bent beneath the weight of it all. ‘‘I didn’t understand why you’d decided to go elsewhere for your bride when you have me here single, waiting.’’
And suddenly he understood. Not just her pain, but also her shame.
In the West, Fatima was still considered young; she was just in her mid-twenties, but in Baraka that was old for women who remained unmarried. Men didn’t believe a woman couldn’t remain pure—untouched—for that many years and a bride’s purity was as important as her dowry. Indeed, a great part of the wedding celebration was the confirmation of the bride’s virginity.
Malik sat down in the chair next to her bed, reached for her hands, held them between his own. She felt so cold, her skin chilled. ‘‘I didn’t realize—’’ He broke off, heartsick. Or did he?
He’d known she’d always hoped to make a royal marriage. But he hadn’t realized she’d always hoped to marry him…or had he?
He clasped her cold hands in his, trying to warm her. His thoughts were broken, disjointed. He’d confronted her this morning wanting to make sure she understood the shame she’d brought on the family by her actions, and yet now he saw the shame she’d been enduring for years.
People would have been wondering, whispering, why a wealthy royal like Fatima Nuri was still single. They would have wondered why her cousin went outside Baraka for a wife…they would have gossiped about Fatima’s reputation, and her shame. Shame. Hshuma, he thought wearily. Hshuma was such a heavy burden for everyone.
She bowed her head, stared at her hands. ‘‘Forgive me.’’
‘‘I do.’’ He felt her tremble and his heart smote him. He’d unwittingly hurt her. No wonder Fatima had been so angry, so resentful of Nicolette. Fatima had feel rejected. Supplanted.
Fatima couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. ‘‘What have you told my family?’’
Nothing yet, thank God. ‘‘Just that you were very ill, and they needed to come quickly.’’
‘‘Ah.’’ Fatima gently disengaged her hands, putting distance between them. ‘‘When do they arrive?’’
‘‘Later today.’’
‘‘Will you tell Mother about what I…did?’’
He’d been asking himself the same thing. What did one do in this circumstance? ‘‘No,’’ he decided quickly, and knew it was the right decision. There was absolutely no reason to bring more shame to her, or on the family. ‘‘But you have to know this behavior—what you did—isn’t acceptable. The choice you made, that’s not a valid option. You are loved by all. Your life is of great value—’’
‘‘Please,’’ she pleaded, fresh tears welling. ‘‘Please don’t. I won’t do it again, I won’t try anything like that again. I just felt so ashamed, so horrible about what happened at the market yesterday. I’d never mean to hurt the princess and yet—’’ She broke off, shook her head, tears spilling. ‘‘Maybe I did lose her on purpose. I don’t know anymore—’’
He hugged her. That any member of his family should hurt so hurt him. ‘‘The princess returned safe. Do not worry, or blame yourself anymore. You must get rest. You need to take care of yourself.’’
She nodded slowly, fatigue etched in the tightness at her eyes and mouth. ‘‘Maybe I’ll go with Mother to New York for awhile. Maybe a change of pace…’’
‘‘I’ll arrange it for you.’’ Malik kissed her forehead, and stood. ‘‘You’ve nothing to worry about, Fatima. Just get some rest. Everything will work out.’’
‘‘Malik.’’ Her voice stopped him at the door. He turned around to face her. Fatima’s eyes looked huge in her pale face. ‘‘I…can I ask a favor, please?’’
He nodded.
‘‘Would you consider taking the princess to Zefd for a few days…just while Mother is here? It’d be easier to pack and leave for NY without worrying about Mother saying something to Princess Chantal. I know Mother will be disappointed that I didn’t—’’ She broke off, frowned, drew a deep breath. ‘‘You see, Mother had also hoped you and I…and she doesn’t know about your engagement to Princess Chantal.’’
He nodded. ‘‘I understand. I’d planned on taking the princess there next week, we’ll just go a few days early. You’re comfortable explaining my absence to your mother?’’